


tomato sauce is okay but tomato juice isn't

by mydrunkjoey



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Borussia Dortmund, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydrunkjoey/pseuds/mydrunkjoey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitch leaves for Stuttgart, and Shinji is bad at goodbyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tomato sauce is okay but tomato juice isn't

 The thing about goodbyes is that Shinji isn't good at them. He holds onto things, holds onto what-ifs and when-will-be-the-next-time and memories he can't seem to force out of his mind. Every goodbye and significant departure Shinji has ever experienced ended the only way he knew how, with tears and snot and wiping them all unhygienic and gross on his arms. (If he's lucky, sometimes he'll get to wipe it all over someone else.)

 

So when Mitch tells him (Shinji's the first to know) that he's leaving, his voice low and much too serious, Shinji's gut reaction is to cry. He's had enough farewells to hold himself back, but the hollow feeling in his stomach gnaws at him. Even if he understands it, (he'd technically done the same, leaving to Manchester United and away from Mitch) he hates it. He hates everything about it.

 

Mitch announces it a week later and the public reaction is essentially the same as Shinji's, although selfish as he is, Shinji is sure that the pain he feels is stronger and deeper and frustratingly so.

 

There are a few things you should know about the two of them. They aren't boyfriends. They aren't secretly married, and they aren't even out. There's simply a mutual agreement between them where Mitch gets to kiss Shinji when he wants to, and Shinji gets to do the same. Other than that, they're pretty much just friends. (Friends who kiss, share ice cream when they're allowed to gain a few pounds, and cuddle in the dark because Germany is cold in comparison to how it is back home.) Shinji grieves about Mitch the same way he would grieve about anyone else-- he tells himself that one night when the news is piling his twitter feed and his dinner is bland.

 

They arrange a “final” hangout, although Mitch is quick to assure him that a three hour drive is nothing. Nothing will change, he messages that again and again.

 

*

 

Shinji shows up an hour early at Mitch's place, but the door flings open and they smile at each other like “nothing will change”. There are a few cardboard boxes already taped and signed, two suitcases by the couch, and the framed art pieces Mitch loves so much are now incredibly empty spaces of incredibly barren walls. Shinji swallows thickly at the sight of it all.

 

“You're early.” It's a statement that requires no reply really, but Shinji shrugs, almost desperate to get some light conversation going. His eyes avert easily from their surroundings, and Mitch is slipping a cup of coffee into his knobbly fingers.

“I couldn't sleep.”

“Me neither,” Mitch murmurs, his bright eyes casting down as he takes a sip from his own mug. Shinji recognizes that mug, it's striped red and white and exactly the same as Shinji's blue and white one. They had bought them together.

“Nervous?” Shinji sips it and it's scalding.

“Yeah. Feeling a lot of things really.”

“I get that.”

 

There's a bout of silence and it aches. Shinji slumps against the wall, spins the mug ever so slowly in his hands, and watches Mitch. Mitch watches him back.

 

“Shinji,” he starts, mug now lowered to his stomach, “can I tell you something?” Shinji nods, wordless and a little bit-- excited? Scared? Both.

“When we first hung out, like properly hung out – just the two of us, do you know what I couldn't stop thinking about?” Another pause. Shinji shrugs as if to signify Mitch to go on.

“I went home and I lied in bed and I kept thinking about how you didn't touch any of your tomatoes.” Mitch is grinning at him now, and Shinji, god Shinji loves that smile.

“What about the tomatoes?” He asks, eyebrow raised ever so carefully.

“I kept wondering why you didn't like them. Why you didn't even want to _try_ a tomato. And I thought about what you were like as a kid, about what happened to you to make you hate tomatoes so much. Like if someone threw a tomato at you and made you cry, or if you ate a really horrible tomato back in high school, or if you just, I don't know - if you just didn't like how it looked.” Mitch has this look on his face, the kind of look that he gives Shinji after Shinji tells him a good joke, or after Shinji wakes him up in some loud and violent way. (The kind of look that makes Shinji melt a little.)

“Why?” This time it's Mitch's turn to pause, and Mitch's turn to shrug.

“I don't know. I just – I liked thinking about it. It made me want to know you more,” he admits, so seamlessly and gentle and genuine. They're smiling at each other and Shinji is more than prepared to kiss him, to drink him dry of all that sweetness. But instead, he prods deeper, shifts closer, and cocks his head.

“So my dislike for tomatoes made us friends?”

“I guess. I mean, I like it. I like that you dislike tomatoes. I like that you dig them out in every salad and burger you get – and that you always forget to tell the servers to get rid of them. I like that you love tomato sauce and tomato-based pastas, but for some reason, tomato juice is no good. I like that you're so-- complex. I don't understand you but I like it, and tomatoes, tomatoes are still why I want to know you, even better than I know you now.”

 

It's as close of a confession as Shinji gets.

 

So it's the gut reaction that hits him when he least expects it, and Shinji's eyes burn. He laughs first, because shit – it's romantic and funny and he doesn't know why, and then he cries because it's romantic and funny and he still doesn't know why. But Mitch seems to get it, or at least he's open minded enough to accept it, because he handles their mugs away and collects Shinji into his arms like he'd done so many times before - except this time Shinji is too afraid to let go.

 

They kiss with salty tears and sweet coffee on their lips, and Shinji thinks about how he's glad that Mitch doesn't taste like tomatoes.

 

Shinji doesn't let go for a long time, but Mitch doesn't try to do so either. Instead, they keep themselves entangled into each other, even if Shinji's neck and Mitch's back aches. His arms are warm atop Mitch's shoulders, and the silence seems to make the tears go away. (That, or it's Mitch's breath near and soothing to his ears.) They pull apart reluctantly, and it's probably the fact that Shinji feels raw and emotional, but Mitch is looking at him like that again, and Shinji is weak.

 

“Things are changing,” he tries – voice at an almost whisper and fingers smoothing down Mitch's sleeves. “Things can't stay the same because we're not friends Mitch – or at least, I don't think we are. I think that I care about you more than I care about anyone else, and I think that three hours is too far, and so is one hour, and so is half an hour, and so is five minutes. I think that I want to see you when I wake up and I think that you want that too.” He's searching Mitch's eyes for some sort of reply, but it's all wonder and shell shock and blue eyes.

“I think that I want to understand you too, I want to know you better too. And I think that you think about me and my particular preferences about tomatoes too much not to like me back a little bit.” That, that does it.

 

Mitch smiles back, and if it isn't for the fact that Shinji had cried everything out already – he's sure he could go for another round. Still, they settle for another kiss, and Mitch is pulling him off the floor and they're tumbling onto the couch with the sort of laughter that you get only with people who like you just like you like them.

 

*

 

Things change. Mitch leaves and it's difficult, but they also become a thing, (“Are we boyfriends?” “We could be manfriends--” “Boyfriends it is.”) and Mitch's new place has a beautiful view of a park. Shinji has his number changed, a new goalkeeper takes Mitch's place, they have the Asia tour without Mitch, and Shinji spends at least an hour every second day facetiming him. Mitch comes out to his family, and Shinji comes out to Ilkay (also his family). They start staying longer at each other's place, and Mitch takes it up upon himself to start cooking for the sake of their combined health. Three weeks after Shinji returns from the Asia tour, Mitch tells him he loves him, and Shinji cries again before he says it back.

 

Everything is different - but Shinji still doesn't like tomatoes and Mitch still doesn't know why. But they have years and years to figure that out.


End file.
